


cuts & bruises

by starstreaked



Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Compliant, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, and save the world ofc, but first they must conquer inner demons, champions are mentioned, i didn't proofread!!!!, the kids need rest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-29
Updated: 2020-04-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:14:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23905990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starstreaked/pseuds/starstreaked
Summary: Three injuries and the circumstances surrounding them.
Relationships: Link/Zelda (Legend of Zelda)
Comments: 14
Kudos: 116





	cuts & bruises

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote this in like five hours and then got impatient at 2am so i didn't proofread/edit. that will probably explain everything. i hope this isn't complete shit! i enjoyed writing it because i love these kids and their war drama :)

Zelda was frustrated.

Of course, the past few years, she’d become quite familiar with frustration in all its numerous forms: frustration with her father, frustration with her future, frustration with her kingdom, and most of all, frustration with herself. The only new frustration had been with the stoic, silent statue of a knight assigned to tail her every move, but even that was getting old fast.

Despite all this, Zelda had been granted a momentary escape from all the infuriating, terrible toils in her life, and for the past few days this escape—given in the holy form of a Purah-and-Robbie research trip—had been the only thing keeping Zelda away from the brink of tears. She’d been given something to work on—something she could  _ do _ —a way to help—and even with the mute knight dogging her every step, she’d been happy. 

She should’ve known it wouldn’t last.

_ Oh well _ , thought Zelda in bitter dejection, staring down at her swollen ankle.  _ Perhaps it’s better to get the facades over with early on. _

Her knight was still dispatching the snarling nest of lizalfos a fair few meters away. Zelda glowered at him, at the monsters, then again at her ankle for good measure. All he’d needed her to do was duck behind a rock while he did all the heavy lifting, and somehow Zelda had gone and found a way of botching that up, just like she did everything else.

_ Some princess _ . And to think, she’d spent most of the last month convincing her father and the Hylian Champion himself that she could take perfectly good care of herself. Hot blood rose up her neck, staining her cheeks. Perhaps she’d have to prove that she could walk away from a twisted ankle. Perhaps that would do it.

Zelda placed a shaky hand on the coarse surface of the rock to her right, leaning heavily against it as she pushed herself to her feet. Pain spiked through her ankle, fiery and needled. Zelda pursed her lips. Link would be getting back any minute now, and the last thing she wanted him to see was her collapsing to the ground like the helpless, fragile little girl they all saw her as. 

_ Right _ , she thought, as she tried to lay weight on her foot and was met with nothing but that hot pain.  _ Right. It will be just fine. I only have to stand on my left foot. I may limp, but I’ll say I tripped over a tree root.  _

Her ankle buckled. With a shriek of pain, Zelda fell back against the stone.

“Princess?” came a voice from behind her that Zelda’s royal ears were only graced with every other week.

Zelda took a careful, quiet moment to whisper every swear word in her vocabulary—not half as many as Urbosa, curse her—then repeated the same words in Gerudo for good measure. “Yes?” she asked without turning around when she’d exhausted that outlet, voice perhaps an octave or two higher than usual.

Footsteps came up behind her, soft but firm, and before she knew it Zelda was staring at the blood-spattered face of her appointed knight. “Have you fallen?” 

She wasn’t sure what was worse, admitting to it or lying and being discovered anyway. She reluctantly settled for the former. “I’ve only rolled my ankle,” she said with as much dignity as she could muster. “It happened frequently when I was a girl. I assure you that I will live.”

There was nothing for her to read in those bright-sky-eyes, even now. His face remained smoothed to polite indifference. “You should sit, princess,” he said, and as much as Zelda wanted to defy him, she had to admit that leaning against the hard surface of the rock with one of her feet hung delicately in the air was beginning to take its toll.

Zelda sat, cursing his stupid emotionless face and his stupid accomadating voice to hell and back in her head. Link sat before her, and it was then that Zelda noticed that he reeked of lizalfos guts.  _ Wonderful.  _ She flattened her mouth and looked away.

“It’s a sprain,” he said after a moment’s examination. “It will heal as long as you stay off of it for a week or two.”

“As I said before, I’ve done this countless times,” Zelda retorted, voice a bit sharper than she’d intended. “Purah and Robbie need my help. I’ll only be here two days more. After that, you and my father can coddle your poor helpless princess to your hearts’ content.”

Still, this stoic knight failed to react to her blatant lack of manners. Zelda wondered if that would change if she screamed, or tore out her hair, or threw herself grandly off the balcony of her chambers. 

“Come” was all he said, rising to his feet and extending a hand to her. Zelda was not about to sink so low as to take it. She pushed herself upright, leaning awkwardly on her left foot and ignoring the shock of pain that danced up her calf as her injured ankle adjusted to its new angle.

Link made no move to lower his hand even after Zelda had steadied herself. She stared sharply at it. He said, “You will not be able to walk on your own,” which seemed to her like a disturbing lack of faith in his royal charge.

Though despite her best efforts to think otherwise, Zelda had a feeling he was right. She scowled to herself, then, perhaps a bit woodenly, scooted up to his side, close enough to feel the heat of his body and smell the stink of the lizalfos blood like it was ingrained in her own skin.

“I apologize for the lack of propriety this situation requires,” said Link as he laid a hesitant arm under Zelda’s own, propping her upright with his body.

“Yes, well,” Zelda grit out as her foot scraped unpleasantly against the ground, “some things must come before courtly etiquette.” Though even in the face of all the half-dried blood and monster guts, she couldn’t help but notice the hard lines of his body against her own, even under all the layers of clothing.  _ He’s a knight _ , she scolded herself, furious and indignant that her thoughts would go such a way.  _ Of course he has muscle. _

Her knight didn’t seem to have mind-reading abilities as well as his long list of wonderful talents and enviable qualities, to Zelda’s immense relief. He was staring straight ahead, helping her effortlessly away from the rocks.

_ How unfair _ , she thought then, glowering at the tree-thatched horizon as they hobbled their way across the Great Plateau to where Purah and Robbie had set up camp,  _ that I must suffer through the most more primitive factors—however brief—of human observance, even against my own will, but still Hyrule’s beloved Champion goes unaffected. _

Though she wouldn’t blame him for not wanting to be pressed against a princess who couldn’t even accomplish her own birthright. Especially a birthright he himself had acquired quite easily. Zelda swallowed the angry lump in her throat.

After a few silent minutes of awkward stumbling, Zelda gathered her voice and said, “You must not send for my father.”

Her knight didn’t stop walking, or freeze, or look at her in surprise, but as pressed up against his person as she was, Zelda felt the muscles of his arms tense in some response to her order. “Pardon, Your Highness?” he asked, voice devoid of any mark of that response.

“He will demand that I am home immediately, though this is, as we established, but a sprain,” Zelda replied, keeping her eyes forward and her chin tilted up. She was still a princess, crippled ankle or not. “I have unfinished work here at the Shrine of Resurrection with Purah and Robbie, and then we must make the journey to the Spring of Courage. I will not let something as trivial as my own clumsiness keep me from completing any of these tasks.”

She felt him hesitate, and knew before he spoke that she wouldn’t like what he had to say. “I hardly think the issue of your wellbeing is trivial, princess.”

Zelda pursed her lips. “I will heal just as well here as I will trapped in the castle, sir knight. I see no reason to distract the king from his busy schedule with something so ridiculous.”

“Not if you plan to journey, princess,” he said. Purah and Robbie’s haphazard camp came into view, and Zelda expelled an internal sigh of relief.  _ Finally. _ __

“It will be the horses’ legs in peril, not mine,” snapped Zelda. “And I may be a pampered princess, but I believe strongly that even I can handle a few hours of discomfort.”

Her knight did not seem pleased with this statement—or, rather, he seemed as displeased as he ever got, which was to say hardly at all. “Very well, Your Highness. I will not write the king.”

“Good,” Zelda clipped, then shimmied delicately away from the circle of his arm, dusting flakes of blood off the side of her clothing. “I shall inform Purah and Robbie of my unfortunate affliction, then, and take an early night as to get a headstart on healing.” Then, after a moment’s hesitation and the conclusion that going without thanks would be a step  _ too _ rude: “Thank you for your assistance, sir knight.”

Link inclined his head in acknowledgement, apparently reverting back to his usual silence. Trying not to walk away in any sort of huff, Zelda bounced over to where Purah and Robbie were sitting around a fire and makeshift benches, or logs. They looked up at the sound of her approach, pleased, but stopped short when they noticed her unbalanced hobbling.

“My, Your Most Graceful Highness,” began Purah in her driest tones, “however did you come across such an injury?”

Zelda shot Purah a sharp glance, though she was never truly angry with Purah’s casual remarks. As a princess, Zelda rarely experienced such informal conversation, and she appreciated it greatly. “I tripped,” she said flatly. “If you can find it in yourself to believe that.”

“Oh, I can, princess,” said Purah, and plopped a rice ball into her mouth. “And I can believe more that you’ve conned your poor appointed knight into keeping mum.”

“In the name of research, anything,” Zelda confirmed, restraining a smile despite herself.

“Ah, eager young minds,” sighed Robbie, throwing Zelda a wink. “I remember when I was just the same.”

Purah snorted. “You were not  _ just the same _ . You slept past noon every day and had to be dragged anywhere farther than the lab.”

Robbie sniffed. “What slander from a woman who is actively trying to  _ reverse _ her age.”

“At least I’ll outlive  _ your _ sorry ass.”

Zelda stifled a laugh against her hand, reaching out for one of the plates of rice balls and munching on one. She never had such easy camaraderie anywhere but when she was immersed in the wilderness and all its secrets. And, of course, with Purah and Robbie, who never attempted to subdue their personalities in her presence. 

In the corner of her eye, Zelda caught the gaze of Link, who stood watch a little ways away from the fire. Even from this distance she could make out the stark color of his eyes, where the dueling blades of flame reflected, brilliant orange against calm blue.

For a moment, Zelda couldn’t look away. They stared at each other, caught up in some strange enchantment. She watched the shadows shift against his throat as he swallowed, and then, slow as the clouds drifting steadily through the twilit sky, and with something that could have been reluctance, he looked away.

Zelda stared at the flames, unfamiliar sensations twisting about in her gut.

There was a cut on Zelda’s arm that she couldn’t feel.

There was a cut on her forearm, deep enough that it still leaked blood even ten minutes later, but all Zelda could feel was the rain. 

The rain was cold even in the hot summer air, each drop like a tiny needle burrowed deep into Zelda’s dirt-streaked skin. The rain turned the midday into a nightmare of midnight, chock-full of terrible, familiar hopelessness and ripe with memories Zelda wanted to forget. 

It had been raining for two days now, ever since Calamity Ganon awoke in Hyrule Castle, and it seemed to get worse rather than better as the time passed.  _ As we grow closer to losing _ , a hidden, miserable part of Zelda whispered, but she pushed it away even now. If that voice was right, then Zelda’s father would have died for nothing. If they lost Hyrule to the Calamity, all of them—Urbosa and Revali and Mipha and Daruk—all they’d sacrificed their lives for would amount to nothing.

The only difference between the rain and the blood-tinged tears striping Zelda’s face was the heat. The tears were  _ hot _ —hot like pain from a sprained ankle—hot like Death Mountain and fury. The rain was cold, and so was everything else, so Zelda knew.

“Zelda,” a voice snapped, and Zelda shook out of her daze. Link’s hands were heavy on her shoulders, and despite everything—despite the rain—they were hot. His eyes were alive and real and so, so familiar. “Your arm.”

Zelda swallowed.  _ Her arm. _ “The Hinox,” she said, and the words felt heavy and painful in her chest. All words did. “It managed a strike, I suppose.”

His eyes were alive and so, so blue. His mouth, though, was twisting like he was angry. “You didn’t say anything.”

Zelda steeled herself then—against the rain, against the heat, against the dread. She said, “Injuries are unavoidable right now, Link. I don’t deserve special treatment. We have a mission.”

The words didn’t quell his anger. “I drink an elixir if I’m injured, Zelda. It’s not just because you’re a princess.”

The words were there—right on the tip of her tongue.  _ I didn’t want to cause any more hindrances than I already have _ . But she didn’t say them, because this was  _ Link _ . Link, who believed in her more than anyone else in the world, perhaps even more than her mother—more than Urbosa. Link would not stand for those words.

So she said, “I know.” Then: “I’m sorry.”

Link’s jaw clenched, but he shook his head and swung his pack around. He dug through it for a moment while Zelda watched the rain pummel the coarse fabric, then presented her with an elixir that she swallowed down without hesitation.

When she’d finished, she handed back the empty bottle and helped him close the pack again, but before she could start their drenched, miserable trek through the trees again, Link grabbed her hands in his own.

“Promise me,” he said, and Zelda was so shocked by the sudden desperation in his eyes that she took a half-step back. “Zelda, promise me you won’t give up, even when things get worse.”

Zelda stared at him—at the dried dirt and blood staining his cheeks and the stiff strands of rain-plastered hair on his forehead. She opened her mouth but no words came.

“We can’t give up,” he continued with that same wildness, his grip on her hands tightening. “Do you understand? If either of us gives up, Hyrule will fall. And I can’t go alone. Nothing will work without you. So you have to keep going.” He stepped closer, until Zelda could feel his breath against her face. “Promise you’ll keep going.”

Zelda didn’t want to start crying. If she dropped down now, like she’d done the night before, she had a terrible feeling she’d never get up. Slowly, she untangled one of her hands from his and touched the side of his face. “I promise,” she whispered, and her voice was steady. She wondered if she’d always wanted to kiss him—if she’d hated him so ardently before just to prove to herself that she was different from all his admirers.

_ I suppose I’m one of them now _ , she thought wryly, and a tiny smile tugged at her mouth. His eyes dropped to it for a half-second before returning to her own. “I promise if you promise.”

He nodded. His face was hard and determined, and it was that more than anything that brought on the surge of reassurance in Zelda’s chest. “I promise,” he said. 

They’d only been walking for an hour before the Guardians found them. Or, rather, they found the Guardians, though not by choice. Zelda’s heart caught in her chest, frozen with fear and sadness at the sight of those great mechanical beasts—beautiful, ancient technology that she, Robbie, and Purah had spent hours upon days studying and reworking. They were supposed to fight for Hyrule, but Calamity Ganon had turned them against it.

Zelda was suddenly furious. Her heart jumped back into motion. She clutched Link’s hand with all her might. “They see us,” she said. “There’s no point in hiding.” She hated the words, but they were true, and she’d rather be out in the open with more space to run than cornered between rocks and trees.

Link nodded, and for a moment he seemed the silent knight who’d shadowed her every move without a glance of emotion. Zelda knew now that it was a mask—a coverup to shoulder all the heaviest loads unnoticed. She wanted to kick him for it now.

“We have to run,” he said grimly, as the Guardians stomped their way across the grass towards them. “I’ll count from three.” At her nod, he said, “Three—two—one—”

They dashed from their crook. Zelda had never run this fast in her life, and there was something about it all—the rain, the fury still igniting in her gut, the fear and determination—that gave her a manic urge to laugh.

She was still pushing back laughter when one of the Guardians shot Link.

He went down behind her with a wet  _ thump _ , and with dread spreading its deadly fingers over her chest Zelda turned around.  _ No _ , she thought, as the Guardian moved toward them.  _ No—no no no no no  _ please—

No goddess was listening to her call now. 

Zelda ran for him, helping him up even as he gasped and struggled. Tears pricked the edges of her vision but Zelda blinked them away. “Link,” she whispered, hands on his shoulder. “Save yourself. Go!”

She knew he wouldn’t. He was stubborn and terrible and loyal and loving, and he wouldn’t leave her even if it meant his own death. Zelda wasn’t willing to give up either way. 

“I’ll be fine,” she told him desperately, as the Guardian crept closer. “Don’t worry about me.” She gripped his shoulders. “Run!”

He didn’t seem to hear her. The Master Sword clutched in his hands, Link pushed himself to his feet, breath coming in fast, strangled pants. Zelda wanted to scream at him—to hate him and kiss him—but she knew none of it was any use. He stood before her unsteadily, even as the Guardian pushed its way through fiery rubble and aimed its Malice-poisoned eye at him.

With an unstoppable hopelessness rising in her throat, Zelda thought,  _ I should have made him promise never to leave me. _

Time seemed to slow as Zelda shoved herself before him—slowed as she raised her hand before the beast that was supposed to be theirs, slowed as something inside her clicked like it’d been there all along—and suddenly everything was bathed in gold, even the rain.

Zelda watched in amazement and horror as all the Guardians flickered and died, their sickened purple lights dimming to darkness, collapsing in great heaps. 

“Was—was that—” Zelda struggled to catch her breath—to comprehend what had happened around her. “The power.”

There was no time to think of it. Behind her, Link thumped wetly to the ground, and the dread had its grip around her throat again. 

And there he was, still and silent, cheek pressed against the mud and trampled grass. “No,” whispered Zelda. “No!” She was helpless—useless as she’d always been—even as she dashed to his side. Perhaps that had never been a side effect of her powerlessness. Perhaps it was just a part of her. “Link! Get up!”

He coughed weakly as Zelda propped him on her knees, but said nothing. “You’re going to be just fine,” she told him, but she wasn’t sure if she was saying it to him or herself.

His eyes were still blue like the sky had been just days ago. Zelda wanted to keep them locked in her memory forever. Link coughed again, then shuddered and went still, and then the tears wouldn’t stop.

It was the thought of fighting through this without him—without  _ anyone _ —of wandering forever through a Hyrule filled to the brim with nothing but ghosts—the thought of all the chances they’d missed together, because Zelda was too busy being imperious and Link was too busy being kind and brave and strong. She clutched him to her chest, letting the hopelessness fill her, because really, what was there now?

_ Princess of legends _ .

Zelda looked up, ready to fend off whoever it was that had come to finish them off, before realizing that, somehow, Link’s sword had spoken.

_ My master can still be saved _ , it said.  _ There is a shrine in this kingdom built just for him. He must go to it. _

“The sword?” Zelda blinked at it. She hoped she wasn’t dreaming. “So he can—he can still be saved?” 

The Shrine of Resurrection.  _ Of course _ . It was all built ten thousand years ago—the Divine Beasts, the Towers, the Guardians—for another hero and princess. Now it was here for this hero, this princess. Zelda knew, then, what she would do—what she  _ had _ to do—to save Link. To save  _ Hyrule _ . 

_ I realize the duty you have for me _ , she told the stars, before turning to face the Sheikah warriors bounding towards her.

It was sunny in Hateno.

Morning light bounced across water, painting strange figures on the sides of houses. Everything here was so  _ alive _ —so bright and unlike the hundred years Zelda had spent trapped in the crevices of Hyrule Castle with Ganon and its darkness. She loved it, and she had wondered many times if that was one of the reasons Link loved it as well.

“Zelda!” yelped a little voice, and Zelda whirled, grinning at Kalan, who was one of the village children.  _ He is of the opinion that you’re pretty _ , Link had told her solemnly once. “Mom made cherry pies! She says to invite whoever we see!”

Zelda laughed. “Is that so? Well, I’d love some pie, and I have no doubt Link would as well, if you’d care to find him.”

Kalan gave a very serious nod. “Mom says he has a bottomless pit for a stomach.”

“Your mother couldn’t be more correct.” She winked. “He’s been that way for over a century now.”

Kalan giggled. Zelda was certain he would only find it more amusing to know that she wasn’t kidding at all. Not many knew yet, and that was okay with her—okay with Link. They were still working out all the knots in Hyrule’s new future, and the Calamity had only been gone six months. In Impa’s words, the two of them  _ deserved a goddess-damned break. _

“See you in a few minutes!” called Kalan, already dancing away to find more cherry pie guests. Zelda waved back, and began making the way to Kalan’s cottage, only a few houses down.

“Zelda!” called Kalan’s mother Delna when she spotted Zelda. “I assume my son has made you one of his pie victims?”

“Naturally,” Zelda agreed. “Though I can’t say I’m opposed.”

“Wonderful!” said Delna, clapping her hands together. “You can help me slice it, then.”

The pie was crisp and gooey and sliced easily. It was the kind of thing Zelda had never gotten the chance to do back in the castle all those years ago. There was always someone to cut her pie for her or present it on a gold-trimmed plate.

“It looks wonderful, Delna,” said Zelda sincerely as they laid out all the plates. “Everyone will love it.”

“Your Link included?” asked Delna with a little glint in her eye.

Zelda’s cheeks warmed. “He eats anything,” she said casually. “He just eats more if he likes it.”

“Hm,” said Delna, and before Zelda got the chance to change the subject Kalan stormed back through the door and declared, “I found him!” brandishing Link before him like a prize.

Link gave a sheepish smile and nodded at Delna.

“We were just talking about you!” said Delna. Zelda was sure she must be the color of the pie filling by now. She hoped Link was too distracted by the plates upon plates of dessert to notice. “And Kalan, didn’t I tell you to bring at least ten people? This is far too much pie for just the four of us!”

With a little half-bow, Kalan ducked back out of the cottage, humming cheerfully to himself.

“Well, make yourselves at home,” said Delna to them both. “And don’t wait up. Goddess knows how long my son will take to collect his favorite neighbors. I’m going to fetch extra napkins from upstairs.”

“I adore Hateno,” Zelda confessed as soon as she’d vanished around the corner. “It’s just so. . . different.”

Link tilted his head at her. There was a fond little grin curling at the edge of his mouth as he went to stand beside her. “Delna makes glorious pies,” he whispered, eyes alight with mischief. 

“You’re a menace to the whole kingdom,” Zelda told him firmly. She shoved a plate of pie at his chest. “Go on. I know you’re simply dying to ignore me and dive into at least eight slices.”

Some of the cherries had gotten on the front of his tunic. Frowning, Link put the pie on the countertop and rubbed the spot on the fabric.

“You’re making it worse,” Zelda informed him. “When I lived in the castle, my maids told me daily how terrible it is to rub a stain into a piece of clothing.”

He made a face at her. “I apologize, Your Highness, that I didn’t earn your royal upbringing. My  _ father _ taught me to wear armor during meals so I never have to worry about stains.”

“He did not,” Zelda said, incredulous, but secretly all she could think about was how much he seemed to remember. She felt light and more hopeful than ever.

“It works,” said Link smugly, and then reached over and smeared pie filling down her nose.

Zelda gaped. “Delna’s pie!” she exclaimed. “You’re defacing it!” And in a moment of uncharacteristic confidence, she leaned over and rubbed her nose all over his cheek.

Link sputtered for a moment, wiping at the sticky red mess, before stopping with a frown, gaze caught on something on her hand.

“What?” Zelda said, confused, but he didn’t answer, only grabbed the offending limb and inspected it before saying, “You’re hurt.”

“Oh,” said Zelda, a half-laugh. “I slipped while cutting the pie. Don’t worry, no lizalfos or bokoblins sneaked in while you and Kalan were walking over. I’m perfectly fine.”

Link blinked at her, caught between bemusement and something else. “I forget, sometimes,” he confessed, “that there’s nothing left to fight.”

Zelda sobered immediately. “I feel the same,” she said, wiping the last of the pie from her face. “I suppose it’s only natural, though; we spent the first hundred-and-seventeen years of our lives fighting.”

“Hundred-and-eighteen, for me,” Link corrected, because he knew it annoyed her. She wrinkled her nose at him, taking a half-step closer. “I’m glad there’s nothing to fight, but I get restless. I have a sword with me that’s built to destroy the embodiment of evil, and it wastes away on my back, used for nothing.”

“I have the golden light of Hylia with me,” Zelda countered dryly. “It wastes away in my soul, used for nothing.”

He grinned at her, warm and sunny and familiar, and for the thousandth time Zelda thought,  _ Thank the goddesses I have him with me through everything. _ “What do the hero and princess do when the story ends?” he asked then. Their foreheads touched.

Zelda’s heart gave a single, pointed thump. “Whatever they want,” she whispered. “They don’t have any more destinies or ancient evils to conquer.”

“Sounds good,” Link said, and kissed her.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> comment to get me through quarantine. yes i'm desperate. no i won't talk about it. (also!! if you liked this check out my other zelink-related works that might be better) i love u people who read this i wish i could put the sparkly-eyes emoji here just imagine it


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